August 12

I sat down at the kitchen table, hands on my lap and eyes on the empty plate. Carefully I glanced over at the cutlery. They didn’t align. The fork laid higher up than the knife and the knife wasn’t put down straight. I glance over at the hostess; her back against me. Slightly shivering, I adjust the cutlery. The end a thumbs nail in from the edge of the table. Straight lines. I adjust the plate too while I’m at it so the flower painted on it grows upwards, not downwards. The hostess looks at me. Hastily I put my hands back on my lap. Try to look innocent, but the glass isn’t standing in line with the plate now; but that’s okay. Nothing bad will happen. It stands perfectly where it is right now. Completely fine… not. I can’t stand it. My chest is cramping, my hands are itching and I can barely contain them under the table. A glance towards the hostess tells me she’s busy again. Quickly, fix the glass before she notice. Peace is restored. At least till I look over at the other’s table setting. Agh, the agony! If I’m lucky, she’ll excuse herself and I can fix it. And the bottles of cider which need to be turned so the text is facing the guests, line up the spices, sort the spoons after size, pot handles to the left, smooth out the wrinkles on the table cloth… I hope she excuses herself before I implode…

Daily Prompt; Organize


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